Absolutely Invincible
by Fezzes64
Summary: B-day gift for Luigisgirlfriend :D America and England go to a one-sided war, and with a pointless hope of understanding, England doesn't fight it and prepares to die at the hands of his former brother. Could that one bullet make it all worth nothing for the Brit? Meanwhile, Germany will do almost anything for his little Italian, and finally lets it all out...GerIta and Usuk :D


**Heya :D Usually I don't do before-hand Author's notes, but this is kinda important for you America fans; America...Is a complete jerk in this story. I know the story is suckish and it moves way too fast and lots of things are wrong with the whole realism side, but if you have an open mind, I hope this turns out as an at least decent story...:) FOR EVERYONE WHO READS I SUGGEST YOU LISTEN TO THE SONG TOO, 'INVINCIBLE' BY MUSE IS A BEAUTIFUL SONG THAT MADE ME CRY WHEN I FIRST HEARD IT :"D**

* * *

**Invincible~**

_"No! I refuse to be at peace with you if all you're going to do is mope about your past!" America spat, pulling back his arm as if to strike Britain. "You know what? I'm not! As of now, The United States of America has declared war against the United Kingdom!"_

_"You fool!" Britain seethed softly, using his harsh tone to cover the shock and lament he suddenly felt, the betrayal that burned him and nearly made him choke with the bile that rose in his throat. "You think you can go against five separate nations all at once without any allies? You wouldn't stand a chance, idiot! There's no way you can win!"_

_"I can and I will. You underestimate me, Britain." America growled, turning his back and marching away. "If you're going to just cry about something that happened years ago I won't stand with you as an ally anymore! From now on, you can consider me the enemy!" And with that, America turned heel and left Britain blinking in the dust._

* * *

"Okay, hold your positions!" America commanded his troops, pulling ahead of the group and shielding his eyes from the pouring rain, trying to see through the brief flashes of lightning that flickered and bled across the gray-clad sky. "We'll wait here. If he doesn't come in about five minutes we'll march into his territory." he clenched his jaw and stared grimly over the top of the hill. Waiting waiting, endless waiting. As sheets of rain lay siege upon the soon-to-be battlefield, America listened. For what, he didn't know, but there had to be a sign, anything! Thunder rolled through the skies and lightning seared across the heavens as the dreadful day moved on. The soldiers soon got bored and started shifting from foot to foot. Some even started looking around instead of keeping a steady gaze on the top of the hill.

"Hold your positions!" America snapped again, glaring at his troops. Immediately obeying, America realized he could hear something. Something that sounded over the storm overhead in the distance. It sounded like...a drum. And marching to the beat with steps in perfect unison. _Rrrum pumpumpumpum, rrrum pumpumpumpum._.. He frowned in concentration as he tried to pinpoint the sound, finding that it came from seemingly everywhere. Grinding his teeth in frustration, he finally caught sight of something over the top of the muddy hill. A single figure, holding what appeared to be an electric guitar...He marched onward with two men behind him. Then four around them. Until a fan of six-by-six troops marched in a parade, each carrying a drum except for the man at the front. Because of the dark gray skies, America could not see his face. He could only hear the drum. _Rrrum pumpumpumpum, rrrum pumpumpumpum_...The rhythm was never-ending and the marching was in sync with it. Long, slow, and striking in time with the beat...The leader finally strummed his guitar once, sending a powerful chord flying across the valley. At the same time, lighting illuminated the parade, revealing their faces.

Britain.

He was at the front with a perfectly neutral expression; unreactive, unfeeling, cold. It was only for an instant, but America felt he was staring straight at him with those emerald eyes of his...He faltered only for a second, but easily regained his focus and took up his rifle, resisting a chuckle. "Alright guys..." he started. "Looks like we're gonna crash a parade." and with that, he made the aim command as the British marchers started down the hill.

* * *

_"Non Amerique, I cannot be your ally in this war. I'm neutral." France sniffed and turned away, crossing his arms and marching off._

_"We sharr see." Japan quickly hung up the phone before he received a reply._

_"Um...No." China hardly gave it a thought and dismissed the idea._

_"Why would I do that? I have a grudge against you..." Russia said creepily. Definite no._

_Everywhere America turned for an ally he was refused...Everyone seemed to think what he did was cruel, and therefore took the neutral side and/or Britain's. So, with no other person to go to, America decided to visit the most rational nation to ask for an alliance._

_"_Guten tag_...Oh, hello, America." Germany pulled open the door, obviously surprised to see a western nation at his place. "Can...Can I help you with something?"_

_"Yes." America said quickly, noting the German was taking him seriously. "I need an alliance. You see, Britain and I are at war, and I need someone to help me out-"_

_"_Ja, ja_, I heard about that...I..Um...Sorry. I can't."_

_"Oh..." America let his shoulders slump, defeated. "Er...Why?"_

_"Uh..." Germany rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. "I-I have that alliance with Italy, remember? He's, um..."_

_"He's what?" America asked, curious._

_"He...declared war on you. Italy declared war on you."_

_"I-Italy did?!" America stared wide-eyed at Germany, shocked. "H-how...?!"_

_"That was my thinking at first..." Germany mumbled, rolling his eyes. "I'm not attacking you or anything. Technically I'm neutral, but if you attack Italy I will be forced to retaliate." he said bluntly, as if nothing out of the ordinary or weird was included in that statement. "If I were you I would remember what I said to England and rethink my actions. Maybe then you would understand why the nations are against your side."_

* * *

America seethed, aiming his rifle once more as the British military slowly marched down the hill. He could take on the world. He was the hero, right? Heroes didn't need allies. Except occasionally for a sidekick. He growled as another chord rang out, just as a voice joined with it.

"_Follow through, make your dreams come true, don't give up...The fight...You will be alright...'Cause there's no one like you, in the universe..._" It was Britain, singing into a microphone of some sort. His voice was murmuring, like he was speaking to a frightened child. Without the microphone he probably would have not been heard at all.

And America stared for a second. In utter shock. Was Britain insane? Did he think he was at another concert instead of the verge of war? Or was he still trapped in the illusion of his past?

And slowly...

America began to laugh. It started out as a rasping chuckle, but it quickly crescendoed to bitter laughter that made his men shift uncomfortably, unsure of how to react. Some laughed nervously with him, others just kicked absentmindedly at the ground. He laughed until tears stung the corners of his eyes, until he had to clutch his chest and lean on the lieutenant for support. But still, his amusement was drowned out by the song that continued, regardless of the world around it.

"_Don't be afraid, of what your mind conceives, you should make a stand, stand up for what you believe...And tonight, we can truly say, together we're invincible..._" Britain's voice started to get a little more powerful, more influential.

And that shut America up.

His laughter was cut off like in the movies when someone gets murdered or something, and he stared with wide eyes at the Brit, who marched on obliviously with his men, who kept the drum beat steady. _Rrrum pumpumpumpum, rrrum pumpumpumpum_...What was Britain singing about? Was it a song he wrote? Or something by a British band? Well, it didn't sound like One Direction... Adele wasn't so much about that sort of thing...Coldplay didn't sing like that...Pink Floyd wouldn't sing that...Led Zepplin wasn't like that either...And U2 was Irish. So...Muse, maybe? Yeah...It had to be. Muse wrote that sort of thing all the time. But seriously, why would Britain sing at a time like this? Unless he was going mad, America thought maybe he was trying to tell him something. He quickly eliminated that as an option, however, seeing as how Britain wasn't the type of person to do such a thing on the eve of his death. America couldn't help but grin sadistically at the word.

"_During the struggle, they will pull, us, down...But please, please let's use this chance to turn things around...And tonight, we can truly say, together we're invincible!_" The song itself suddenly gained a formation, being soft chords before. Britain's voice rose up along the scale, becoming what mere words simply could not convey...If anything, his singing voice was what he was famous for. His troops finally arrived at the bottom of the hill as he finished the verse, the drum beat steady.

They didn't stop, though.

They kept marching, even as America commanded his own to take aim. They kept marching, even as lightning threatened to shatter the sky embellished with clouds. They kept marching, even as a single gunshot ripped through the humid air and a bullet struck the man next to Britain. They kept marching with the song. The man who was shot, however, stopped walking and suddenly fell, turning to face America at the last minute.

His expression could only be one of pure hate and rancor.

"_Do it on your own, it makes no difference to me, what you leave...behind...what you choose...to be...And whatever they say, your soul's unbreakable..._" Britain's voice remained unwavered, but his suddenly pained expression acknowledged the man who fell beside him.

And that one bullet could have been heard around the world, just like at the Revolution again. Except it was America's fault. But nevertheless, it was the cause of the battle. More shots rang out and more British men fell without resistance. Most of the American shooters aimed at the ground, some accidentally hitting their feet, but nowhere like their head or chest. They knew very well that these men might die anyway, but they also knew that America's fury could surpass even that of Zeus. They wouldn't dare disobey the nation at a time like this. The pain of watching every British soldier shot fall, his drum breaking on the muddy ground, his expression turning from stone-hard sorrow to utter grief...And worst was how merciless America was. It was obvious the British soldiers all shared an admiration, a love for their leader. They were all, in a sense, willing to die for him. And because of America, there was no choice in the matter.

And suddenly, up on top of the hill, another army appeared. America lost his focus for a second, his lenses flashing as the leader-figure, feminine-like with a helmet a bit too large on him stepped forward. The army remained a step behind, their uniforms completely different from the leaders'. The front man raised a fist, his expression determined.

"_VIVI LA BRITANNICA_!" he screamed over the chaos, charging.

_"LANG LEBE BRITANNICA_!" The German army repeated in a chorus, joining him in his charge.

"Ah...Crap." America muttered, knowing the German army had the ability to beat his to a pulp. He couldn't give up, though. The figure in the lead...Wasn't he...?

* * *

_"Germany, ve~..." Italy peeked into the living room where his favorite German was, while hiding behind the pillar._

_"Ja, what is it, Italy?" Germany asked, glancing up and putting his book down on the coffee table next to him. Taking off his glasses, he set them beside the book and turned his head in the direction Italy was hiding. His tone was only slightly annoyed; Italy had chosen the right time to tell him._

_"Ve~...Um..." Italy was scared. He had something very important to say, but he didn't know if he was strong enough to say it. He had to, though. He had to, for Britain. He stepped out from the pillar and took a few meek steps in the living room towards Germany. He kept wringing his hand in a nervous manner, his gaze darting to the side a bit too quickly, too often. He knew he was making himself obvious, but how else could he release his stress?_

_Germany let out a sigh and rolled his eyes, a smile playing at his face and hinting that he wasn't really irritated at all; just amused. He sat back in the chair and patted his thigh, gesturing for Italy to come. Obediently, Italy quickly padded over and sat in Germany's lap, shyly pressing his face into Germany's clavicle and looping his smaller arms around the nation's neck._

_"Alright, what's bothering you now?" Germany murmured softly, rubbing a hand soothingly up and down the little Italian's back, and gently pulling the younger closer._

_"Ve~..." Italy whimpered, hiding his face. "I-I'm afraid Germany w-will be angry with m-me..."_

_Germany shook his head, smiling slightly. Italy could be so wary and scared sometimes. "Italy, I want you to imagine the worst case scenario, and then you can tell me, okay?"_

_"S-si..." Italy thought hard. Now, because his realm of knowledge and comprehension was different from most nations, his worst thought was Germany banning pasta. Or forbidding him to see his friends. Or...deceasing their own friendship altogether...Italy shuddered at the thought. "I...I can't do that..."_

_Germany rolled his eyes again, smiling. "I'm not going to stop being your friend. And as a nation I can't ban you from anything unless my boss has other ideas."_

_"Ah...Um..."_

_"Can you tell me?"_

_Italy whimpered again, biting his lip. He honestly had to tell him, but..._

_"I declared war on America."_

_He gasped and covered his mouth; the words had just come out without him meaning to. Trembling, he turned his face away from Germany so he couldn't see how ashamed he was. Now Germany would hate him..._

_"Italy...You...declared war?" Germany repeated the words, testing out how they sounded. Italy winced, ready for the worst. Germany was silent a moment, forcing a scared little animal noise out of Italy. When Germany was quiet like that...It could only mean he was either really really angry, or something else, something much, much worse. When Germany shifted, moving Italy so he could see his expression, Italy flinched, like he was going to be slapped._

_"I...For lack of a better word...I'm impressed." Germany said, brushing a lock of hair out of Italy's face and offering a small smile to the terrified nation. "However, I am curious...What are your motives? What drove you to do that?" he tilted his head in confusion, trying to remember any past feuds, arguments, or issues between America and Italy, even though he was sure he'd have known already._

_"..." Italy was quiet, trying to figure out how to put it into words. "I...Um...I-it was for Britain...I-I don't know if you heard, but..."_

_"What happened to Britain?" Germany asked, concerned. Even if they weren't exactly acquainted per se, Britain was Italy's friend. And Italy's friends were known very strongly to Germany._

_"A-America declared war on all of the UK, including himself, Wales, Scotland, and Ireland. It was out of impulsive anger, not with reason. It's not up to America how Britain chooses to remember his own past." Italy's voice suddenly got bitter. "And it's no good reason to just subject him to war because of it. Maybe if he knew what it was like, maybe if he would mature a bit more, maybe if he would consider anyone else besides himself for once, he would understand." he spat._

_Germany raised his eyebrows, not sure how to feel about Italy being so...serious about his cause. Nevertheless, he was Italy's ally, and he would support him no matter what. "Alright..." he said softly. "I'm not going to declare war on America, but if it comes to war against you, I will. I am still your friend, Italy; nothing is going to change that." He shifted so he and Italy were face-to-face. "What are you going to do?"_

_"Wh...what do you mean?" Italy asked curiously. He didn't appear to be as mean; maybe the worst of his anger blown out just by saying those words against America._

_"Well, you did declare war." Germany pointed out. "What do you plan to do? Attack? Stand by? Supply?"_

_Italy let out a sigh through his nose and swallowed thickly. "I know what America plans to do. Britain has already accepted it, and has his own way of fighting it. But it won't work. Tomorrow America will move troops to Britain's marching grounds and confront him there, away from civilization and attack full-out. Britain isn't going to fight; he plans to just take it and at the same time convey a message in small hope that America will understand. Wales, Scotland, and both the Ireland brothers have refused my personal pleas to help him, so he won't get and __physical help. I plan to be there when America attacks to defend Britain and his men, and probably retaliate. Then I will personally explain to America what Britain is trying to say because he obviously won't get it."_

_"Mmm," Germany hummed, once again finding himself impressed. "That's actually more elaborate than what I expected. You really are serious about this, aren't you?"_

_A small, meek nod._

_"Ah. Okay. Well, as your ally," he emphasized this so Italy would finally understand this was not a problem to him. "I can and will help you. You said a full-out attack, Ja? I can help you lead your forces-"_

_"N-no, I don't want you to come with me..." Italy interrupted softly, guiltily. "I want to lead this on my own without help."_

_"...Oh." Germany didn't seem fazed at all by this, but found it odd just the same. "Well...The least I can do is lend you an army...Would you like that?"_

_Italy nodded again, a small, sheepish smile gracing his lips._

**_O~o~O_**

_The next morning Italy was up really early, fully dressed and ready for war as he claimed. He didn't even bother with breakfast; he was too nervous for such a luxury. He spoke a bit with the German Lieutenant-Commander, finding it a bit easier to understand him after lessons on the language from Germany himself, and after he left, Italy lingered in the doorway, fidgeting and trying to work up the courage to get a move on. He'd trained especially hard this week so he was confident he was ready, but there was still that nervousness that gripped and clawed at his chest. He was scared- terrified, even! Everything could go wrong, someone could die, and it would all be his fault…He nervously drew up the helmet he was wearing above his eye level so he could see. The helmet was Germany's; the nation had given to Italy to use for this particular battle, and he was determined to put it to good use._

_"Italy." a soft voice from the living room said, startling the said nation, and making him whirl around. He timidly approached it, walking tentatively into where he knew his caller would be._

_Two strong arms wrapped around Italy from behind, pulling him into a hug against a familiar chest. Italy smiled slightly, comforted by this gesture and leaned his head back to rest his neck on his friend's shoulder. "Good luck, Italy," Germany murmured softly in his ear, lowering his own head to press his chin gently on Italy's shoulder. "You'll do just fine; if you remember how I taught you to command my army America doesn't stand a chance. Alright?"_

_"M-Mmhm." Italy replied, as it was the only thing he could say. If he said anything else he feared he would be choked back with tears. This wasn't the embrace of a friend; it was the embrace of a lover, even if it wasn't meant as such. It was sacred, nevertheless, and Italy returned it, almost mistaking Germany's tone of voice to be hurt…_

_"Promise me…" Germany gently gripped Italy's shoulders and turned him around so they were eye-to-eye. "Promise me you won't do anything stupid or reckless, and you won't put yourself in a situation any more dangerous than need be. Promise me…" Germany hesitated and took a breath, not seeming to notice he was gradually squeezing Italy's shoulders with more pressure. "That you'll come back." The larger nation's colder colored eyes swam with emotion that was foreign to both nations to see, and Italy almost couldn't reply, his honey-hued eyes wide with both shock and wonder._

_He eventually found enough sanity to nod, very subtly, very quickly, and bit back a sob as tears filled his eyes. He reached out a hand and pressed his face into Germany's clavicle again, gripping his shirt in his fist. "I-I promise, Luddy." he whispered, adjusting his helmet. "I promise."_

* * *

"_During the struggle they will pull us down, but please, please let's use this chance to turn, things, around...And tonight, we can truly say, together we're invincible! Together we're invincible…!_" Britain's voice echoed itself as suddenly the American army was forced to retreat further in front of the British and down another hill as the Germans approached. Britain himself, however, halted right on the edge of the cliff and launched into the guitar solo of the song, combining the bass part and the main bit into one. It sounded truly phenomenal, almost impossible because of his particular style of playing.

America became blinded by anger in that instant, nothing working for him and everything seeming to go right for the other side. All peripheral vision disappearing, he roared in his madness and picked up his gun, aiming for the man balanced just on the edge of the cliff. His blue eyes wild with fury, he fingered the trigger, everything becoming tunnel-vision all at once-

He was suddenly tackled from where he couldn't see, at his right, with a cry of '_NO!_' and collapsed, rolling to the ground. His rifle was flung from his grasp down the rocky slide as America and the offender were forced to roll the rest of the way down the muddy hill. As soon as they slowed, America forced them to roll over one more time so he could straddle his attacker's torso and reared back his fist to punch him in the face.

All at once, America heard the cocking of multiple guns and looked up, seeing five Germans with their rifles aimed solely on him. And he was about to seriously take out Italy. Staring at the smaller nation in shock, he almost relaxed, resting back on his heels. "Wh-wha? I-Italy…"

"Get..._off_ of me…" Italy suddenly growled menacingly, his low tone of voice unfamiliar to his usual _legato_ sound. His eyes were cold and merciless, not glowing and happy anymore like they usually were.

"Wh…" America frowned, taken aback. What was wrong with him? Was he sick or something?

"_I SAID GET OFF OF ME!_" the Italian roared, sitting up at an unexpected speed and grabbing America by the collar of his uniform, yanking the latter above his head and flinging him flat on his back on the muddy ground. Then he did that really cool ninja move where he used his arms to flip himself on his feet, displaying a strength not even Germany knew he had. "_ON YOUR FEET, SOLDIER!_" he shouted at America, who was still laying on his back in utter shock as he adopted a fighting stance.

Even with the electric guitar solo in full swing, America could hear him loud and clear.

He clumsily flipped onto his stomach and leapt to his feet, coming face-to-face with the nation, knowing he couldn't fight back or he would be shot by the Germans who still trained their weapons on him. "What did Germany do to you?!" he yelled over the stormy chaos at Italy, who never faltered his ready position.

Ignoring him, Italy waved a hand furiously towards his right and the Germans suddenly backed up a couple of steps, turning around and no longer aiming at America. They proceeded to fight the American army as they tried to save their commander, creating a ring around the two nations that would not be disturbed.

Italy then rushed forward at a sprinting pace, being the runner he was, and tackled America. Being unprepared for the lunge, the larger lost his balance and almost fell, but not before Italy could painfully grip his shirt and keep him from doing so. Looming threateningly over America, the smaller nation slowly began to pull him upward, not just to his feet, but...off the ground. With one arm he managed to lift America in the air above his head by the collar, using the leverage from his forearm to maintain the position.

The two stared at each other, eyes flashing as the song continued in time with the lightning and thundering havoc, the British nation playing accidentally to the beat of the storm. Or the storm playing to the beat of the song. That was when Italy's harsh gaze on America softened, just slightly, and he lowered America just an inch so he could whisper in his ear. "Listen to him, America…" he murmured sadly. "He's singing to you; he means this song literally, if you'll listen to what he's saying. He…"

He paused as he finally let America to his feet and faced Britain, signaling for America to do the same. "He-"

"_Duuuring the struuugle, they will puuull us dooown, but pleeaase please let's use this chance to turn thiiings around!_" Britain's sound rose in volume as Italy was cut off, listening in awe at the power the Brit's voice had on the field. "_And tonight, we can truuuly say! Together we're invincibllllle! Together we're invincibllllllllllllle!_" the final verse of the song, Britain sang at the top of his lungs, as loud as his voice would let him. Same with his guitar, as the remaining soldiers finished with the beat. Even if the song was over, it still echoed not only throughout the valley, but in everyone's ears and memory.

And to America's shock he fell to his knees, losing his grip on the guitar. With the light of the sky igniting the land, it was clear to the two nations the tear trails shining on his cheeks. His gentle sobs shook his frame visibly from where Italy and America stood, and the former of the two turned to face his companion, seeing his expression.

"He loves you," Italy whispered. "He was trying to tell you that and he's afraid you won't understand."

"H-he...Loves..me?" America asked softly in disbelief, all the recent events suddenly making sense all at once. "O-oh...OH CRAP!" he screamed suddenly, completely forgetting about Italy and the Germans, his own army, the British...All he could see was Britain himself, crying and balanced dangerously on the edge of the cliff. However...Just before America could move...a bullet ripped through the air seemingly in slow motion, the sound loud enough to make everyone go deaf.

Britain jerked once, hit in the shoulder, eyes wide with shock and pain...and hurt. Perhaps he believed America shot him…? He looked about to collapse on his front since he was already on his knees, and, the storm at his heels, America sprinted up with everything he had and, screaming, met the Brit right before he could hit the ground and pulled him into a hug, tears streaming down his own face as he realized everything he did only wounded the Brit even more than he already had. He fell to his knees as well, cradling Britain in his arms and rocking back and forth, trying to stop the bleeding with his hand. With the smaller nation forced without option to cry into his chest, America felt a weak hand move up to feebly grip the back of America's uniform, then the other around his neck.

"I-I'm sor-sorry, Am-merica…" came his barely coherent, choked voice, accented greatly with not only his nationality but his pain and hurt as well. "I'm s-sorry…I-I ever c-came out here...I-I'm sorry I w-was ever your br-brother..."

"No...No! Iggy no, please, listen to me…" America sobbed, attempting to pull the Brit into a more comfortable position. "Please don't leave me! Y-you can't die! It's all my fault, I'm sorry, you don't have to apologize for anything, I'm sorry, I'm your brother, I love you!"

"D-don't be silly…" Britain coughed a bit, jerking his whole frame. "I-I'm n-not finished y-yet...Y-you'll have to deal with me f-for a couple more cen-centuries or so…" with great effort he managed to pick himself up and balance on his knees, still a bit shorter in height than America, and looked up to meet the larger nation's eyes. "Y-you...You underst-stand…? I-I didn't come out...T-to a false hope?" he asked, more to himself than anyone else.

"No! Of course not! I know...I know and I understand!" America finally realized the Brit obviously didn't plan on dying anytime soon and let out an involuntary sob of happiness. "I...I love you too, you know. You didn't have to kill yourself for it." he hugged the latter tightly and buried his face in his unwounded shoulder.

"Urgh…" Britain winced as he moved his arm, yet somehow managed a small smile. "T'wasn't really the plan…" he joked weakly, chuckling slightly.

"Oh, hush you." America smiled back and gingerly helped the Brit to his feet, supporting his limp form. "C'mon, let's go home...I don't think I can forgive myself for coming out here in the first place." he admitted. "Good grief, why am I so stupid?!"

"You're not THAT stupid…" Britain mumbled teasingly in his ear. "Just oblivious."

America turned his head towards the shorter man. "You know what? Just because you said that…" he suddenly swept the nation off his feet, scooping him up under his knees and shoulders and forcing a shrill cry of surprise out of the Brit.

"Wha-OI!" he protested, flailing weakly, obviously to no avail. "Put me down, Alfred!" he whined, pushing at him in a rather girlish manner and glaring, betrayed at him. America, however, grinned deviously at him and shook his head no, marching off gleefully and calling the American and British army off to follow. With the commanders staring, trying not to laugh as America carried Britain bridal-style towards home, the smaller grudgingly wrapped his arms around his neck and rested his head in America's chest, sighing gently.

"Hey, I just remembered…" America turned around suddenly. "I think we owe Italy a heck of a thank-you."

"Wh-what?! I-Italy's here?!" Britain looked around trying to spot him on down the hill and blushed darkly, hiding his face in America's jacket. "Alfred!"

"Well...That would be if he's still...I can't see him." America motioned over the nearest German soldier. "Uh…" he made a 'curl' motion by his head and tried to remember the little German he knew. "Er..._Danke_!"

Britain sighed, knowing this would happen. "_Könnten Sie bitte sagen, Italien sagten wir "Danke"?_" he asked the German man in a flawless accent, reluctantly turning to face the world.

"I do understand english, you know." the soldier replied bluntly, smiling in a slightly amused manner at America. "But _ja_, I will tell him." and with that, he hurried off towards his own army.

"Mmm." Britain huffed, annoyed again. "Could you put me down now?"

"Nope!" America laughed. "You, good sir, are in no condition to walk. Besides…" he pressed his lips gently to the Brit's forehead. "You're coming to my house, are you not?"

"No, I'm not."

"What?"

"I'm not in the mood to cross the bloody Atlantic, Alfred."

"Oh yeah…Forgot about that. Okay, off to your house!" he began to run at an unexpected pace and made Britain yelp in surprise as he bounded easily over the field, followed by two rather pleased armies towards the Brit's home, where the two could finally relax and heal. And just before they went to bed, they shared their first shy kiss, a prelude of many fine centuries to come.

* * *

A knock on the door.

"It's open!" Germany called from the living room, quickly passing his hand over his face, realizing suddenly he was about to fall asleep. "Come in!" it was late; it wasn't really surprising he was startled.

"Sir!" the familiar voice of his Lieutenant-commander reporting echoed down the hall as he let himself and the other officials in, making Germany leapt to his feet and straighten his uniform. He didn't hear Italy though...He waited anxiously as the commanders entered the room, all of them fidgeting awkwardly and looking rather worried. One of them held his hand uncomfortably behind his back, another clutched the side of his arm. The others just fingers their sleeves.

"Report?" Germany asked in their native language, becoming slightly scared. Where was Italy? Maybe he went to his room like he usually did on rainy days…

The captain stepped forward, his hands still behind his back. Swallowing thickly, he took a deep breath and pulled out the helmet Germany had lent to Italy and passed it to the nation, his hand trembling a bit. Then he silently, somberly returned to his place as Germany took the head gear.

It took a second for it to click.

"...Wh…_WHAT?!_" he suddenly dropped the helmet, going rigid with shock."No! _NO_! I _told_ you to protect him! I _ORDERED_ YOU TO!" Germany screamed, grabbing the captain by the collar and forcing him closer, eye-to-eye. "Who did it?! Was it America?! I swear, I am going to _beat_ his head in! I'll_ murder_ them all in their sleep if I have to…" he growled, releasing the man unceremoniously and pacing at a marching stride, furious, hurt, angry, devastated. "_WHY DIDN'T YOU PROTECT HIM?!_"

The men were silent as Germany began a rant, waiting for him to finish and not daring interrupt him. He kicked the helmet, threw it at the wall, screamed some more, nearly punched a hole in the wall but managed to restrain himself, and...then a few stray tears slipped down his face as he finished, collapsing to his knees, covering his eyes with his hands. "N-no...I-Italy…"

That was when the soldiers got confused. "Um, sir?" the admiral inquired softly.

"What." Germany said in despair.

"Er...What exactly are you talking about?" he asked gently, sharing a glance with the other officials, who were as thrown off as he. "Sir North Italy just asked us to return it to you for him." he walked over to the far end of the room and picked it up, making sure it hadn't broken or anything, and handed it carefully back to the nation. "Sorry if we made it look otherwise...Y-you didn't think…" he trailed off in horror, realizing all at once what they'd made it look like. "...Oh."

Germany looked up in shock. "H-he just...Wanted to return it…?" he asked himself in disbelief. "...That _IDIOT_! Okay...Sorry, that was...most dishonorable." he stood, brushing himself off, feeling his face flood with heat.

"No, no, sir Germany, it's our fault. It's understandable, though; we know how he…" the captain coughed awkwardly. "_Ahem_. Is around you. P-please forgive us, sir."

"It's fine…" Germany mumbled. "But...Where is he?! Why didn't he come back here?! It's too late to go back to his house, and unless he went with Britain or America…" it suddenly dawned on him. "..._THAT IDIOT_!" he suddenly ran out of the room, grabbed two coats, and raced out the door without a word, slamming the portal shut behind him as thunder resonated through the room.

None of the officials heard a car start.

"Yyyup. He's running there." the Lieutenant-commander said.

"Yup." the others agreed.

* * *

Germany raced furiously out into the storm, almost oblivious to the freezing rain slicing through him like knives, the wind as it gained strength and used his own speed against him, the muddy ground as he darted so swiftly over it he hardly left a print. He was a good runner; better at distance than anything else. If he were honest, it felt rather good to stretch his muscles and his lungs, feeling the familiar burn in his chest and calves and lengthened his strides to cover more ground. He could run the entire world at this pace a thousand times...for Italy. And he would. But first he had to cross the English channel.

He quickly crossed his own border and entered French territory, going around civilization to avoid distraction as he sprinted full out through the rain that covered almost all of Europe. He flung up a bit of mud as he leapt over various obstacles; rivers, boulders, trucks, fences in some cases. In the period of just five minutes he'd crossed both Germany and France and made it to the English channel, where he paused. There wasn't a ferry at all, which was all the better; he hadn't planned on using it anyway. He tied one jacket around his waist and the other around his neck and dove in, swimming powerfully and having to switch gears like a car to force himself onward.

It was easy, really. To any regular man doing this on a sunny day, it would take a long time, but to a nation like Germany, even on a stormy day, it was a cake walk. He made it to the other side in no time and shook himself off like a dog, not getting too much better because of the rain and running once more in the direction he felt his instincts tugging him on towards.

It didn't even occur to him once throughout this whole journey that Italy could have done this on his own. Or that he wasn't wanted at all.

And so he ran onwards, down the direct center of a main street in London. Because of the late hour, Germany only saw one or two people wandering around. His stride remained as powerful as ever as he slowed only to round a corner, nearly skidding and losing his balance, but managing to keep it and run, footsteps making not a sound.

Finally he made it to the British training grounds, the war site just up the hill. Germany didn't hesitate and immediately sprinted upwards, his over-trained muscles making it seem far too easy. Finally he made it to the top and he halted, whipping his head wildly around, blue eyes wide, searching, searching…

There! Curled up, almost unnoticeable in a sitting position at the base of the next hill...Germany spotted the familiar figure facing away from him, evidently not noticing the larger nation. So he quickly hurried over, accidentally not making a sound. It always happened; even if he didn't mean to he always managed to sneak up on people, the oaf Germany was. Well, maybe not oaf, but still.

He slowed down a couple of steps from the Italian, noticing his chest was contracting slightly, like he was crying and hoping no one noticed. Over the storm, he could hardly hear anything for himself, so he walked the rest of the way towards the smaller nation and knelt just behind him, taking the coat from around his neck and laying it across his friend's shoulders.

Italy jumped, startled.

"V-ve?!" he turned his head around to face Germany, his eyes not only open but wide too. "G-Germany!" he squeaked, fear evident in his small voice. "I-I'm sorry! I d-didn't mean to, er, th-that's to say-"

"Shut up, you _dummkopf_…" Germany murmured, gently pulling Italy into his chest since the poor man looked cold. "Just don't scare me like that again. I thought you were dead, Feli." he was almost grateful for the rain; it concealed his own tears. "C'mon, we should get home; you'll probably get sick if you're not careful." he picked the smaller nation, almost forcing him to his feet but decided to carry him at the last minute.

"Ve…" Italy looked confused as he was swept into his friend's arms. "Um, wh-why-" He was interrupted by a cough that jerked his whole frame. "A-ah...Wh-why would Germany think I'm dead?" he asked innocently, eyes wide and questioning. He was, in a sense, genuinely puzzled, and Germany could see where he was coming from; all he'd done was ask the soldiers to return the helmet.

"Mmm." Germany hummed in acknowledgement. _"Ahem_." he cleared his throat awkwardly and averted his gaze so Italy couldn't see. "They just gave me to helmet and didn't say anything. It was...Instinctive to think the worst." he mumbled, embarrassed.

"...Oh." was it just him, or did Italy sound disappointed? Germany felt Italy shift into a more comfortable position, and then out of nowhere, he suddenly brushed both his thumbs under the German's eyes and looped his arms around his neck, stealing a kiss on the cheek and resting his chin on Germany's shoulder. It took the larger nation a moment to realize the Italian had wiped his tears away and stopped walking for a second. He quickly resumed, however, stiffly at first as he felt his face heat up. "E-erm, I-Italy-"

"Shh…" Italy gently silenced him, whispering in his ear words only he could hear, words so soft and meaningful they could only come from the smaller nation, words so loving they could only be meant for Germany. "Please don't cry Luddy, I hate to see you cry…" he begged. "It's alright, I love you, I'm here, it's okay." he began murmuring sweet nothings in his ear in soothing tones for reasons Germany couldn't quite understand.

Until a small, almost inaudible sob escaped his throat.

Italy brought a sure, steady hand behind Germany's neck, sliding up to the back of his head and gingerly pulling so the larger nation's face was buried in the Italian's shoulder. Italy still whispered in his ear, hugging the latter to his chest as he began to cry. He stopped walking again, and nearly tripped, lowering himself on one knee. Hesitating slightly, he pulled Italy closer, hugging him tightly around his torso and surrendering to the man in his arms.

"I-I...I was so afraid you were gone, Feli…" Germany choked out softly, guiltily. "I was so scared...So lost…"

"Shh…" Italy whispered soothingly, pulling his face away slightly, so he could press his forehead to Germany's. "It's alright, Luddy, I won't leave you, I promise, I love you," he closed his eyes as he said this, not like he was annoyed or tired, but pleasantly. He was contented to comfort his friend, apparently, but...How was it he knew Germany was about to cry? Before Germany could ask, the younger nation brought his other hand up to stroke the German's cheek, wiping his last tear away and pulling his face slightly closer. He opened his eyes and looked lovingly into Germany's pools of blue, smiling gently and running his fingers fervently through his friend's blonde hair. "I promise," he repeated softly.

"N-nngh…" Germany choked back another sob and shook his head slightly. "I love you too much to let you slip away so easily…" he managed to say, his voice cracking, but despite this, he suddenly brought up his own hand, gingerly as if he would hurt the smaller nation, trembling, and slowly cupped Italy's cheek, closing the space between them and pressing his lips to the Italian's.

* * *

**HAPPY TOTALLY LATE B-DAY, SAMANTHA :DDD Some Usuk and GerIta for ya, and for the audience as well...But yeah :D You likey? And about the song, I used it on purpose, Sam; you are invincible, no matter what and I will always stand by your side :) JOYEAUX ANNIVERSAIRE MA SOEUR~! :D BTW, again, the song is called 'Invincible' by the most amazing English band, Muse :D And you should listen to it ;)**

**~Fezzes64**


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